Sex slave: Regina

Mistress Lil' Bitch slips into her latex nurse uniform, skirt snapped tight against her thighs. Her gloved hand rises—the crop dangles from her finger. Again. No balm waits in the cabinet, no soft voice to soothe. She waits at the edge of the bed until the first patient crawls closer, trembling and already wet at the mouth. She trails the tip of the crop along his spine, slow enough for anticipation to bloom and then crack—skin flaring under the sting. Sweat beads under latex. A second stroke cuts low, across the backs of his legs, jolting him forward on elbows and knees. She makes him count each burning stripe out loud, her heel nudging his balls whenever he hesitates. The room fills with sharp breath and whispered numbers. Tears streak his cheeks; she licks one away like medicine she alone can administer. Every strike drives him deeper, until the sting is all he knows and the only relief is whatever she decides to give—or deny.